So much for That
by Souvenir
Summary: Despite disagreeing with his family's religion things are looking up for Roxas, a boy who loves to watch people's expressions. Then he meets Axel, a wiccan whose expression he can't manage to read. After that things pretty much go to hell.
1. Prologue

**a/n: Hi there. :awkward wave: **

**Everybody wants to do a highschool fic _some _time. So here's my spin on it---I'll just talk about it for a bit up here. Mmmm. Roxas is a boy who loves watching people's expressions change. No, that's not a premise, it's just a fact. Ummmm. Oh! If you read my other akuroku fic, The Cool Guy, don't start freaking out on me---this is just a side thing, that I probably won't continue unless some people take a liking to it. I might focus on it after I finish The Cool Guy, but not before I do. So no worries, k? **

**Anyway, first person limited can be difficult. heh. **

**And KH is owned by Disney and Square, folks!**

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**So much for That**

**Prologue**

"I think it's so great that your mom decided to move back here, I mean, my mom was practically in tears when she heard. She was like; 'we'll have to repaint the living room and plant the flower garden and you'll get to see Roxy after all these years!' It got old after a while, but I'm happy she's happy. Although, I didn't really know what to expect---the last time I saw you you were busy kicking over my sandcastle and stealing my ice cream while I---ommph! What did you stop for?"

I could hear my cousin take a breath, and was faintly relieved to hear some sort of annoyance in his voice as he stumbled into my back---a petulant annoyance, but it was there. I was starting to think that he always spoke with a grin on his face.

For the most part, though, I was busy staring at a house on the corner of the street two blocks from the house I'd moved into earlier that morning.

Calling it a house wasn't exactly fair to those upstanding structures that littered the surrounding area. It was more like a shack. A cottage, maybe? Whatever. It was a dark and dilapidated building with grimy windows and a squat porch that seemed to vomit a set of ancient looking steps, mere feet from the comparatively normal sidewalk we were standing on.

Towards the back of this horrendous construction the ill kept yard---strewn with the faded plastic remnants of scooters and god knew what else---dissolved into a thick copse of trees laced with thorny undergrowth.

It was like hell itself had decided set up a summer house.

I took a quick, belated step backwards, tripping over my cousin's huge red and yellow---a terrible color combination---sneakers and ended up landing on my butt. Hard.

"Ouch," I said, once again belated.

"Here," my athletically superior cousin reached down and grabbed my hand with his own large palm and tugged me up to my previous position.

"Sorry," I said as an afterthought. My eyes were still trained on the house. Its neglected, shoddy wood siding was pulling my gaze to the equally neglected front door, which showcased a wooden knocker and a knob that was only precariously fixed to its surface.

For some reason, my first thought after evaluating its appearance was a desire to stride up those horrific steps and risk splinters to pull open the door.

I probably would have done exactly that, except my cousin took my silence as an invitation to start talking again.

"Not a problem! I can see why you stopped, though. It is the sort of place that turns heads, I guess, but—well. How should I put this?"

I eyed my cousin warily. After spending the afternoon in his near constant presence I had started cataloguing his emotions---if I was any judge, the pose he was striking meant that we were about to have a moment where the new kid listens to the guy with all the experience, who warns him about the dangers and precautions he should take in his new environment.

It was too late for me to stop him, and he barreled into the speech with the same knowing tone I'd guessed he would.

"Around here, there are some things you just don't do. I mean, besides the obvious stuff, like drugs and arson and unprotected sex."

I blinked.

"Like, you don't look Mr. Xemnas in the eye. You'll meet him soon enough---he teaches calculus at the highschool. Only he doesn't want to teach calculus. I mean, he's crazy obsessed with science, only we already have a teacher who does physics and chemistry, so every year around teacher evaluation he gets super creepy. They say that the weird smoke and lights that come from the school on nights that there's no moon are from him doing weird experiments and…_stuff. _

And, uh…oh. You don't mess with Demyx's guitar. He lives two houses down from us. It's hard to say whether he likes swimming or music more. I think he splits his time equally between the two…I mean, so one day, me and Riku---you'll meet him later, he's been my best friend since I was, like, two---snuck into his room and hid his guitar while he was at the pool."

At this point my cousin made a curious expression, one I hadn't seen before, but could have been something complex like "regretful distaste."

"Anyway, I won't go into details, cause then you'd never go near him, but my hair grew back and Riku…Riku never liked puppies anyway." He bit his lip, but continued with a cheerful determination to see his admonition through to the end.

"The last thing is also the most important. That place?" He jerked his head towards the house, making his loosely spiked hazelnut colored hair bounce in a vague sort of way. "Don't ever stay here too long. And never, ever, go inside."

I looked at him. "Why? Who lives there?" I cocked my head over at it.

He stared at me. Then he laughed, throwing his arms behind his head. I wondered if it was habit, or merely a nervous gesture.

"We should get going," he said, and started walking back the way we came, in the direction of the regular line of well-painted, comfortable two story homes. "I told my mom we wouldn't be too long."

"It's only been ten minutes," I protested. "I'm sure she won't get mad at us."

I was mostly arguing for the sake of argument. With the house several steps behind me I immediately lost all interest. People were probably warned away because the floor would cave in if you walked on it, or something. There hadn't been a condemned sign, but maybe it had fallen down.

I turned back once to test my interest in the place. My second run through wasn't nearly as interesting as the first. It just looked like any other junky old house.

"Hey, Roxas, come on!"

I kept my sigh to myself---only one afternoon and already I didn't like how cheerfully he called my name, how cheerfully he'd dragged me out of the house, and how cheerfully he was now dragging me back.

I forced a small smile. He did seem to be a good guy.

After all, it didn't even look like he knew _why _my mother and I were moving in with his family---information I was not about to divulge unless circumstances included a loaded gun---and who knew, maybe not even then---but as soon as I'd stepped through the front door, it had been "Hi I'm Sora!" with an audible exclamation point further punctuated by that sunny smile. His mother had been the same way, and my mom was probably still chatting with her over French roasted coffee in their spacious, well lit kitchen, with its classic tiling and finished oak cupboards. Sora's mother had a polished, successful look about her. It was easy to read, from the tips of her honey colored hair to the heels of her stylish black flats. She had kept a girlish figure and an endearingly impish grin through her years as a mother.

Beside her and her equally polished son stood my mother in her lavender t shirt and favorite pair of faded jeans, hollowed cheekbones and bright eyes prominent. And behind her I stood, waiting patiently on the doorstep, waiting for Aunt Gene to turn out to be a bitch or for my mom to change her mind like she did every other time we attempted to move.

But it didn't happen. Like I said, it was "Hi, how are you, I haven't seen you since you were this tall," and my mom and his seemed to be on better terms than the rest of the family.

The rest of the family. What a joke. Cards at Christmas scrawled with things I'd rather forget and hysterically disastrous calls at three in the morning. I stopped thinking about guidance from my elders by the time I was twelve, and stopped expecting much at all when I turned fourteen to be greeted on the phone by some drunken relative asking some pretty incriminating questions, considering my age.

"Roxas? You're spacing out. It looks like you do that a lot---well, that's fine. Riku does that too sometimes; it's probably why I talk so much, ha ha. Anyway, there's this movie on tonight, and I was wondering---well, would you like to watch it with me? I mean, you don't have to; you seem like the type of person who might want to stay in their room---uh, no offense! There's nothing wrong with that. I should probably do it more often. But---"

"That sounds great," I interrupted Sora's flustered babbling, noticing that his cheeks turned a fascinating shade of pink when he blushed.

Seventeen years without family other than my mom. Outside the nice, welcoming house I was starting to recognize as a new beginning, I realized that if it meant _we_ could play nice and get along when all the others failed horribly, I'd never so much as _look_ at the strange, sad shack on the corner of third and weft again.

And when his eyes met mine, I smiled for real. "Sora," I tacked on, wrapping my mouth around the syllables with great care.

I was almost blinded by the force of his returning smile, and had the breath knocked out of me by his tight hug.

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**a/n: Umm, yeah! So drop me a line if you like or don't like, otherwise I won't even know to continue it! **


	2. Chapter One

**a/n: Chapter one...I'm personally still on the fence with this story, how about you? **

**You know the drill---KH disney and square. **

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**Chapter One**

"---I'm sorry, uh, Mr. Xemnas, sir---he's my cousin and he's out of it, aren't you, _Roxas?"_

I jerked out of my reverie. Sora had that awful embarrassed expression on his face, half nervous grin, and half uncomfortable grimace. I'd only seen it twice, once when he had hit Riku harder than he meant to during one of our pillow fights a few weeks back, and once when I happened to witness his mother catching him in a small lie.

(Riku had taken it in good sport. I found, that after you see a person hanging around your house constantly, you get used to them. At first, it had creeped me out. (Especially that first day, when I got up early and began eating cereal only to have a stranger ask if I could please pass the cornflakes. If memory serves, I brandished my spoon at him and demanded he get out, taking him for some crazy pervert. Sora walked in ten minutes later to see us having a silent showdown. Apparently Riku thought _I _was the intruder. I don't think Sora stopped laughing for at least an hour.)

I actually can't think of a time that Sora was home without Riku, and whenever Sora wasn't around, he was at Riku's. Their personalities, for all their differences, were complementary. Riku was soft spoken like myself, oddly passive, and still passionate. Every once in a while he surprised me by speaking in a wistful voice about wanting to leave and go out and have an adventure of some kind. And then Sora's mom would send them out to pick up the pizzas she'd ordered for dinner. They'd come back forty minutes later with mud on their shoes and the melancholy in Riku's eyes was completely erased. It was like magic. Or maybe clockwork. )

I stared at him for a bit, taking in his expression for a few seconds, and marveled at how I could see what I liked to call "mild fury" swimming directly beneath the grin and pleading eyes.

Then he kicked my foot---not a trivial matter. Sora doesn't know his own strength. In the three weeks since I moved in with him, I had sustained numerous bruises and came dangerously close to several sprains, all just from being around him. I raised my leg with a quick yelp and directed my eyes toward his focus of attention.

I immediately wished I hadn't.

The last thing someone like me needs first thing in the morning is that which he has been warned periodically he would eventually see but hasn't actually yet experienced---

In my case, that elusive and unwanted sight was the screwy upper math teacher.

Sora hadn't been kidding when he described the man: he had long silvery hair that stuck up at odd angles, pinned and prodded into a scruffy ponytail that gathered at the nape of his neck. Unlike most of the teachers, who were so pale and pasty---take my English teacher, Mr. Z, for a keen example---they could have been vampires, he had nut-brown skin. A pair of banged up glasses hung dangerously loose from his ears, and he wore them so low on his elegant, roman nose that I had a clear view of his eyes. They were a little too deep, a little too close, and a little too reflective. Not that they weren't aesthetically pleasing; they were. But for such a dark shade---somewhere between the color of the sea at night and pitch black, they were eerily bright, and the corner of his mouth was dragging as he regarded me in turn.

His expression was regal: it was a pissed off look, but sophisticated in nature, something I didn't get to see too often. At its edges lurked curiousity, anger, and impatience. (The last growing the longer I stared.)

All in all, I was intimidated. The fact that he was six foot something with a gymnast's body aside, this math teacher---with a pencil lodged behind his ear and a white lab coat over his blood red sweater---was indeed everything Sora and Riku had told me.

I didn't know if I was supposed to bow, or just run for my life.

"Hi," I said instead. I know that a person's voice is distorted to their ears, but I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who heard the quaver. I felt Sora stiffen beside me, and wondered if I was even allowed to speak to the teacher.

Maybe I should have run.

"You're late, Sora," he said, without looking away from me. "And who are you? I wasn't aware of any new students."

"I'm Roxas," I said, arms twitching in case I had to fling them up to protect my face. "And I'm not in calculus. I like science better. I was just walking Sora to class."

I didn't bother checking Sora's expression. I knew he looked like he wanted the hallway to crack apart at its seams and swallow him whole. Or maybe just me, if he was showing vindictiveness today. (Something he did only rarely, but I've been thinking that I bring out the worst in my cousin.)

"I see. I can understand that," he said, fingering the pocket of his lab coat. I squinted. Did he have a test tube in there? But he withdrew his hand before I could tell. "I suggest you both get to class," he said, and after a meek wave Sora turned away from me and walked into his classroom while I scampered down the hall to English.

I ended up walking inside just as the bell was ringing. Mr. Z was sitting at his desk, a slim volume of Keats in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

It was actually only my third day in class. Due to a mishap in my paper work, my previous guidance office had taken two weeks to send over my transcript and then the guidance office here spent three days processing it before I could attend classes. I had taken the opportunity to get settled and spent all my afternoons hanging out with Sora and Riku, while during the morning I helped my mom look through the help wanted ads.

I didn't really know what to make of Mr. Z, but I liked him anyway. He was quiet and spoke in a dull but concentrated voice as he taught us parts of speech, and his metallic colored hair swept his forehead and cheek when he bent and scrawled notes on the white board in handwriting that was small and pretty, with all sorts of flourishes that he seemed to add as habit.

He wasn't a very tall man, but he was powerfully built, with broad shoulders that seemed out of place under the black and gray argyle turtle neck.

"And most adverbs end in that," he said. He paused to look around the room, and his face fell.

I knew what he meant---three of my classmates were snoring, at least five had their heads down, two girls were chatting about a magazine, and a group of boys in the back were absorbed in an argument over two bands I'd never heard of and which lead singer would win in a fistfight. At least no one was throwing paper airplanes, like yesterday.

Today I had the grace to look up from where I'd been perusing the literature book---I didn't need to be reminded what an adverb was---and meet his eyes.

It was a weird, way out staring contest between the two of us. The rest of the classroom, with its state funded posters and shelves of ancient books, seemed to drop away to a dim background. He knew no one paid any attention to his lecturing, and he knew I knew it. His eyes---just like his voice, they were dull but concentrated---flickered with curiousity, or maybe faint surprise. I raised my eyebrow, and glanced pointedly at the volume of Keats.

I got a quick, sly quirk of the eyebrow in return and I almost jerked in surprise when he abruptly strode to his desk, picked up the volume, and began to read in an energized, powerful voice, significantly louder than he'd been in lecture.

I could immediately tell that he loved poetry, and if the way he seemed to not be reading from the book but rather with it was any indicator, I guessed that it was the reason he was teaching English.

It was the first time I'd seen a teacher do something like that, and I was beyond amusement when the other students looked up in confusion.

For the rest of the hour he read Keats, stopping between poems for discussion and history. By the end of class his voice was raspy, and when the bell rang and I started to throw my literature book in my bag, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Yeah?" I asked. The students had dispersed quickly.

"You're new. It's Roxas, right? Thanks. Teaching is, well, it gets difficult when no one's listening." His voice was quiet again.

"Sure. But, I mean…don't you kind of have to teach the grammar?"

I think he almost smiled. "Grammar will be there tomorrow, in all likelihood. If we never put into use the lessons of Emerson and Thoreau, what's the point in teaching them?"

I could think of a few reasons---obviously Mr. Z was a placidly disgruntled teacher. But since the poetry had actually been enjoyable, and since he seemed to be so completely pleased with his minute transgression, I bit my tongue and gave him a quick wave before rushing to science.

* * *

"And then Mr. Z _what?"_ Sora exclaimed delightedly, leaning forward so much that if I wasn't sitting up straight our foreheads would have touched. Riku noticed the danger and calmly pulled Sora backwards. I gave him a fleeting smile.

Sora barely noticed. "I mean, we're talking about the same teacher, right? Quiet, boring, short Mr. Z? When I had him last year I couldn't keep my eyes open! One day, Riku and I--" Riku nudged my cousin into silence.

"Same guy," I said, poking at my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The crusts were cut off. Aunt Gene really was perfect. I quit playing with it and took a big bite---bliss. "Short, but that's just about the only thing you got right, Sora," I decided against laughing with my mouth full, "he's actually not boring at all. But he doesn't like grammar, and the fact that everybody sleeps in his class can't be doing anything for his confidence."

"If he's not confident, why would he do something like that?" After surveying the school lunch with a wrinkled nose Riku started sharing Sora's.

"Hey guys, what are we talking about?" A girl with shoulder length red hair skipped up to the table, cradling a small salad and a bottle of lemonade.

I looked at her, trying to think. I had never seen her before, but with her dancing blue eyes and light voice she reminded me of someone.

"Kairi!"

That question was answered quick.

I don't know how he managed it so quickly, but Sora leapt over Riku's lap to greet the girl with a quick, fierce hug. I knew that his hug meant nothing---he did the same thing to Riku whenever he saw him. But Riku was also looking brighter.

"I can't believe you were sick for a whole week! I wanted to come visit you, but my mom said that your mom said you needed your rest, and that I probably shouldn't come, so I made you a card instead, did you get it?"

I stayed silent during the conversation that ensued. Kairi was like Sora's twin in humor, and I didn't even bother making a list of her expressions, seeing as they were nearly the same. Obviously, she was more feminine, but she was not the least bit more reserved than my cousin.

Sora and Riku had of course told me about her, "Kairi did this" and "Kairi does that," but I hadn't been picturing the slender, graceful girl who giggled in front of me.

The three of them shared one side of the table, and if Sora and Riku complemented each other, Kairi completed the circle of closeness. They looked perfect next to each other, mentioning "Hayner", "Olette", "Namine", and other people I'd heard about in passing but hadn't run into yet. I wondered if they all had the same similar expressions because they were so close, or if maybe they were so close because they had similar expressions.

"Isn't that right, Roxas? Roxas?"

I snapped my head up and a wave of pain jolted me as I cracked heads with Sora. It was a wave mixed with annoyance.

"Don't get so close!" I snapped.

It was the first time I'd used such a tone with my cousin.

"I—I'm sorry, I…"

I looked at him and instantly regretted it when I saw his expression: confusion, hurt, surprise, regret.

"No, I'm sorry," I said quickly, racing to fix the damage. "I—you startled me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been spacing out."

I really was sorry, too. Not that I had been spacing out, but that I'd reacted so meanly to my cousin, who'd been nothing but kind.

"What were you saying?" I asked, forcing interest and apology in my voice.

"I was just telling Kairi that I'm glad you guys have finally met," Sora said.

"Sora never talked about his family before, so I didn't know he had a cousin," she said. I glanced at Sora, but he was busy burning a hole into the sickly green cafeteria floor.

I smiled since I didn't know what to say, giving her my default expression---meaning, I kept my face blank. It was a habit of mine. You'd do it too, if you paid as much attention to expressions as I did.

"I hope we'll be friends too!" She chirped.

"Sure," I said, and then she started eating (or tried to, Sora started tickling her) and I got up to throw the rest of my lunch away.

The cafeteria at my new high school had a low ceiling and floor that seemed sunk into the center of the room. The walls were a lighter version of the pea-green hue, obscured in places by neon, student made signs that proclaimed things like "cheerleader tryouts Wednesday" and large laminated posters that demonstrated what to do when somebody started choking, what not to do when somebody started choking, and how to tell if said person was really choking or not.

There were maybe thirty of the slate colored tables, and as I maneuvered through clusters of chairs and piles of book bags, I heard snatches of loud conversation.

"I know, he and his friends are such punks---"

"And then Mr. Xemnas called Mr. Saix a _bitch_ for asking if he could borrow a marker---"

"So then me and my mom and dad went out to the island for a picnic."

"No, get _this. _He said that he actually went in there."

"You're lying."

"Cross my heart and hope to die, Fuu! They bet him a hundred munny, so Rai went to that house on third and weft at midnight, and he went _inside._"

"What next?"

"That's the thing! He came out screaming about demons and shit!"

I stopped. They were talking about the shack. The curious, creepy, convoluted building. I could see their table, it was to my direct left. The enthusiastic speaker was a tall guy who was breaking dress code in at least three different ways, and the girl was a little thing with crescent shaped eyes and silver, cropped hair.

Sora never did tell me why I shouldn't go near that place. Was it just a neighborhood ghost story thing, then? Not a condemned building at all, but a scary one? Maybe someone had died there.

I shook my head. Sora had said not to go there, and I wouldn't.

Who knew what would happen if I did, and then he got mad? I'd seen lesser offenses result in blood at family reunions.

And mom loved staying with Aunt Gene and Sora. She'd just started working at a neat, little curiousity shop in town, and said her employer was great and so were her coworkers. There was no more chance of my crazy uncles or their kids fighting and getting her fired.

What about me?

Well. If my mom's happy, that's pretty much enough for me. I can smile and I can laugh so long as she is. I liked Sora, I liked Riku, I liked the highschool.

And as things stood, they liked me too. Things were good for the first time ever.

"Roxas? What took you so long?" Sora looked up, the bell was already ringing.

"Oh, nothing. Just taking my time," I said, playfully flicking the hair out of his eyes. He practically glowed at the attention and we walked to class, he chattering about something or other, and me watching his expressions change.

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**a/n: there is a boy named Axel. **

**Someday, he might even get into this story. Sorry! I have to establish things first! Really! Roxas is a complicated character! **

**Anyway, if you bothered to read this, you may as well bother to leave me a review---common sense, right? **


	3. Chapter Two

**a/n: Hi. Axel in this chapter, woot! Ummmm. Yeah, so it seems like a couple of people are into this! Thanks for your reviews, guys. **

**Anyway, KH belongs to Square and Disney.**

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**Chapter Two**

"Roxas! Hurry up!"

I wanted to do nothing more than ignore the frantic rapping of Sora's knuckles on my bedpost and fall back to sleep, but it was Sunday morning, and I knew what that meant. I had to get out of bed and leave my comfortable, warm room and brave the early October chill that had descended over the past few uneventful weeks.

"We have to get to the library!" He said, cheerfully impatient.

"Don't you mean church?" I asked groggily, scratching my nose. Dimly I noticed that Sora had already showered and dressed. I hoped he would allow me the same courtesy before dragging me out the door.

"That too."

Sora and Aunt Gene were diligent Catholics who went to church every Sunday, reconciliation once a month, and regularly volunteered at the church's soup kitchen.

"Why are we going to the library?" I asked.

Sora cocked his head at me. Out of his normal, casual clothes, he looked significantly more mature.

I wondered why he was staring at me so intensely, so early. I put a hand to my mouth, expecting there to be line of drool or something equally mortifying, but I only touched my chapped lips.

"You don't like going to church," he declared.

He was right. The church was lovely, pastel yellow, an airy structure that gave one the impression of faint majesty. It rose three stories. The first was preceded by a large, wide set of shallow stone steps, and the second floor led into a soaring bell tower. It was the tallest building in the whole town, and when seen from far away the great bell glinted like a great, watchful eye, giving me the creeps.

The large set of oak double doors led to a huge room hung with bright symbolic tapestries, with the gold and blue painted ceiling staring from high above at row after row of hard, uncomfortable pews, all leading to the marble altar flanked by cold marble statues.

I spent most of my time in church staring at them, trying to interpret the meaning of their faces like I did so often with people, but I never got far in my musings with the distractions of the Gospel and of the organ.

(I'm fairly sure that thinking of the Gospel as a distraction is an indication that Catholicism isn't right for me. )

I blinked. And then I panicked, fearing the disturbance of our happy, balanced coexistence.

"N-no, I'm cool with it, you and Aunt Gene are---well, I mean---I only owe it to you to go, that is---"

I fumbled. How he knew I detested those hour long sessions was beyond me, but I would endure them. Endurance kept the peace.

"Roxas---there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about," My cousin said slowly. I sat up. The covers slid down my chest, exposing me to the cold air, and Sora took a seat beside me. The bed, with its secondhand mattress, dipped as he looked around.

My room was at the end of the hallway, originally a guestroom, like my mother's. The walls were a soft scarlet, and at the earliest opportunity I'd hung up posters of some of my favorite bands and a few pieces of art---nothing extravagant, just something to make the room seem smaller. I wasn't used to having this much space. Tucked away in the corner under my large paneled window---hung with white and crimson curtains---was a dark wooden desk, on which was my latest haul of books, my school work, and a little glass dragon figurine my mother had gotten me years ago at a Renaissance festival.

The dragon was placed so that in the mornings when the sun caught the edges of its delicate wings, it acted as a prism and threw rainbows on the fluffy, cream colored carpet.

Sora stared at them, and I stared at him.

His expression was somewhere between sincerity and fret. I didn't know what I had done to deserve it.

"You don't like church," he said, "but you keep going. And you don't like Kairi---" he held up a hand, cutting off my hurried protest---"I'm not saying you hate her, Roxas, but you still chat with her whenever she talks to you, when you'd rather not. And, well, since you like books, I asked my mom to drop you off at the library. I told her you had an urgent project to do… So you can stay there while we're at church. Is…is that okay?"

I stared at him.

"It's…I, uh…"

I gave up and decided to act on impulse: I leaned forward and hugged my perceptive, thoughtful, kind hearted cousin.

"Let's go, then," he said brightly, pulling away. "Later tonight, Riku and Hayner are gonna come over---you haven't met Hayner yet, have you? But I think he's in your English class. Anyway, let's watch movies and junk, 'kay?"

"Sure," I said, and he left me to scramble into some clothes and grab my library card.

* * *

"We'll be back right after church, okay? I'm sorry you have to miss, but I understand school work is important too." Aunt Gene smiled at me from the front seat, twisting to look backwards as she pulled the car to stop, making her pearl earrings swing prettily. Her hair was done up in a knot on top of her head and she matched her son's glossy, Sunday dress.

Her expression showed me just as much care as she would her son, with a touch of wariness that I couldn't exactly place but decided was actually mild concern.

"Okay. Thanks," I said, disentangling myself from the seatbelt---a rule Aunt Gene enforced but my mother did not---with a quick wave.

Sora gave me a thumbs up as they drove away in the sleek black car, heading halfway across town, and I shook my head, pulling my jacket a little tighter.

The library was a cozy, sprawling affair that covered four floors. It was old, brick, and smelled like yellowed paper, which you always expect from a library, but rarely get.

Despite the scarcity of visitors its atmosphere was inviting, and after smiling at the librarian---a gentlemanly looking man with long blond hair that was going gray---I found myself answering the call of the first floor's towering shelves. I soon discovered that the first floor was dominated by nonfiction and walked along the book cases looking for a stair case to the next floor, preferring today to lose myself in a fantasy novel rather than a periodical.

This took longer than it should have, probably because of my tendency to let things draw me in. About every three steps I snatched a book from its snug home, skimming the inside and back covers in a systematic fashion before moving on to the next volume that managed to catch my eye, by color or size or the font of the title on its spine.

Eventually I did reach the staircase---rather rickety, the steps curved dangerously inward and the banister was prone to shaking.

After a few steps I deemed it to be safe, though nerve wracking.

The second floor, like I'd guessed, housed children's and young adult fiction. I glanced at the colorful, magic filled covers of the children's literature with mild interest and no small reminiscence.

I didn't bother looking at the young adult fiction. Books for teenagers tended to deal with issues like suicide, love, and family, none of which I particularly felt like exploring. They also tended to house either overly sheltered or over the top street-smart protagonists, who all have the same fatal flaw---their inability to make correct choices.

There were more windows on the second floor, and I was almost on par with the far off shadow of St. Joseph's.

I felt a little guilty, no matter how glad I was to not be sitting there at that exact moment. Aunt Gene trusted me immensely, and only ever greeted me with a smile, which is more than I can say for my mother.

Of course, my mother _kn__ew_ me, and I think Aunt Gene fancied me to be a copy of her perfect son, equally positive and upstanding and possessing the ability to make correct choices.

I trailed off into the young adult books, staring at their titles with a mixture of curious distaste and not-so-faint repulsion, not really seeing anything around me as I let my eyes slide out of focus.

There was a word for people like me. What was it? Doing one thing but believing in another…

"H-Y-P-O-C-R-I-T-E. Hypocrite. That's the one you're looking for, right?"

"Ahh!" I yelped in surprise, and in my haste to stumble around clumsily caught my foot on my own black and red sneakers. I have huge feet, so I should have known better than to attempt this maneuver---last time I knocked Aunt Gene's favorite lamp off the living room table. Luckily Sora had been standing across the room---very athletically inclined, he dove after it and saved it from my unintended destruction---Sora, however, was not with me this time.

When I fell down on the dusty wooden floor I brought down at least half the books with me. One landed on my face and I tilted it upward, peering under its pages at the offender.

The first thing that registered was a pair of boots as black as sin with dark thin laces crisscrossing the whole formidable length of the boot.

This would have been scary enough on its own, but the boots were attached to a pair of pants, which was attached to a torso, from which a long slender neck sprouted and supported a narrow face framed with the reddest hair I'd ever seen, circus clowns included.

This tall, spindly creature clad in black squatted down beside me---I still had to look up to see its face. I had the distinct impression of faint terror that a fly must have when it confronts a large, hungry spider.

Then it smiled at me and I was treated with my first glimpse of its---okay, his--- eyes.

They were green. To say that little about them would be a travesty except for the fact that fanciful similes and intricate metaphors could never do them justice. I'll call them merely green, because you would have to see them to know what I mean. His eyelashes were long and dark, and under that bottom fringe were two small, matching tattoos.

"Here."

I grabbed the proffered hand and the book fell off my head with a loud thump, reminding me of my initial surprise. I could feel my face get hot, but that might have been the heat from his hand---it was unnaturally warm. Huh. Not at all clammy, like I had expected.

He stood up when I did, and I realized just how tall he was---I only came up to his chest.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said.

"Don't worry about it," I said, keeping my face blank. I didn't like him, and I hadn't figured out why.

"It's not often I hear people besides myself talking out loud like that."

I blinked.

"I don't blame you," he added. He bent down and picked up the books. When he placed them on the shelves, I noticed he put them all in upside down, a faint smile on his face that reminded me somewhat of Mr. Z's, when he had deviated from his lesson plan.

"What…are you talking about?" I asked. I could hear the bells from St. Joseph's ringing.

He plucked a slim volume from the top shelf, lazily inspecting it before tucking it under his arm and selecting another. I noticed that the top shelves, out of my reach but easily within his, were dominated by classical British and American literature. The books up there were stately, exuding self importance with their faded hardback covers. (The glossy, eye-candy filled covers of the young adult fiction seemed gaudy and fake next to them.)

"What you said, about being a hypocrite. It sounds like you're being too hard on yourself." He frowned when the bells pealed again, as if it had been the first time he'd heard them, as if he disagreed with them.

"I—" I looked around, frantically paranoid for a moment that I would see Aunt Gene and Sora strolling up the staircase. "I was, uh, joking."

He snapped the book---a beaten copy of Walden that seemed like it had seen better days---closed.

He looked like he wanted to ask me a question, but I swept past him---Aunt Gene and Sora would be getting out of church, and I didn't want to make them come looking for me.

* * *

**a/n: I told you this'd be about religion. Yep. .I've actually fleshed out the plot a little in my head. I really think you guys will like this... um...so, if you're reading this, then go ahead and drop me a line. I love to hear from readers, and I don't bite. **


	4. Chapter Three

**a/n: Hi there. I can't believe how many reviews I got on chapter two! You guys are awesome, just awesome. :D Anyway, I'm really sorry I haven't updated my other AkuRoku fic, The Cool Guy. I'm not abandoning it, or anything---I just don't want to force the next chapter, and I have very little time on my hands right now. **

**Big thanks to my editor Blood-eye! (I win, by the way...) **

**You guys are fully aware, but I'll say it anyway---KH belongs to Square and Disney.**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_"You are steeped in sin, child. Have you really no idea of what you are? The bible states it exactly. Let me find it for you."_

_"Let go of my arm! Let go—let go---_

_"Do you see what that child has done now, Joan?"_

_"It's okay, honey. It's okay. Someday we'll move far away, and nothing like---and it won't happen ever again. Please hold on---can you do that, Roxas? For me?"_

"Roxas? Roxas? _Roxas!"_

I woke up with a splitting headache, and the first thing I saw was my cousin's ocean blue eyes, stippled with concern and a touch of fright.

"What are you doing in my room?" I struggled with my sleep-weary body and rested with my head against the bed post---not the most comfortable position, but I knew my head would only get worse if I tried to sit up. I glanced out the window---the sky was midnight blue, broken only by the strange orange glow of the streetlamps and a slight lightening on the horizon. I spotted heavy clouds of pearly fog kissing the dark ground.

"It's five," he said, snatching at my objective.

Then he leaned forward and I found myself subject to having my cousin gently wipe my face. His touch caught me off guard---normally when we came in contact, it was a result of my clumsiness or his vengeance. I found that Sora's hands were very similar to my own in shape and size, very soft and careful as he brushed against my cheek. He looked at me with an equally soft expression, brow furrowed slightly in concentration.

"What are you doing that for?" I mumbled, trying to flinch away and ending up knocking my head. My vision swam for a moment but then I caught sight of the washcloth. It was covered in sweat.

"You can stop," I said, embarrassed. I really was. I'd gotten very used to taking care of myself, and I didn't like knowing that Sora had been watching me sleeping. There was something about the idea that disconcerted me beyond reason.

"No." A shadow of stubbornness had joined his expression. I gave up, sinking into my pillow. I frowned; it was wet. "Roxas, I came into your room because I heard you talking in your sleep---"

Forgetting my head, I shot up from my lying position, clutching at the covers in terror. Sora was close enough that he would have surely heard my heart pounding in a frenzied double time.

"Roxas," he said, trying to push me lightly back down, but I found myself dipping into the iron will I hadn't had reason to touch since moving and would have none of it.

"It's okay. Please lie down. I think you were having a night terror, it was all gibberish."

"You couldn't understand it?" I asked, hands relaxing. The complexities of his face weren't lost on me. A careful curiousity guarded by respect in addition to concern growing ever more unsettled.

"No. Lie down now?" He asked. I decided to comply---my head was threatening to implode and I was getting dizzy. "I'm going to go get you some aspirin," He said.

I nodded mutely and stared at the swirling mist outside.

* * *

"Morning, Roxas---hey, are you okay? You don't look so hot." 

Somehow the perception of my friends continued to amaze me. I was just never expecting it. Sora had skipped away, something about meeting Kairi somewhere, leaving Riku and I alone on our way to school. Aunt Gene always went to work early, and my mother liked to sleep in since she works late hours, so Sora and I had made a habit of walking the mile or so to school in the mornings. Lately Riku had taken to joining us, and we'd take the opportunity to panic about forgotten homework, talk about the coming day, or discuss whatever had happened last night. It was a relaxing part of my routine.

"Did you and Hayner have a fight?" Riku inquired, well aware of my habit of spacing out.

(Hayner had become my new best friend---over the space of two weeks I was just as close to him as I was to my own cousin, closer in some ways. We had met the Sunday night that Sora had invited a group of people over to watch movies.

(Hayner was like a train wreck. He was quick to strike, leaving you dazed and dizzy, sometimes laughing and sometimes horrified. His face was a wild kaleidoscope of emotions, a boy with big hazel eyes and a wide, delinquent-styled grin. His hair was like the petals of a sunflower and his dress suggested a careless punk. And, sometimes he was. But he was a kind, determined sort of person. The type who'd rather die than take something sitting down. (His natural pose was one including curled fists.) )

I had been sitting on the couch, feeling out of place and disorientated among all the introductions and new faces, when someone bounced down beside me.

"Hayner," he said, holding out his hand. I took it and he pulled me forward, staring unabashedly into my eyes. "Your face reminds me of this cat I had!" He'd said excitedly. Upon inspecting him, I recognized him as the airplane-throwing culprit of my English class.

However surprisingly, we ended up talking all night, sleeping in my room instead of Sora's, and he'd stayed over almost every weekend since.)

"No," I said. "I—I woke up with a bit of a headache, that's all." I showed him a smile for his benefit, and he smiled back.

"Hair in a ponytail today?" I asked, looking at him. "That's new."

He reached up to the back of his head, a self-conscious look on his face.

"You don't think I look like Mr. Xemnas, do you?"

"Of course not," I laughed. "Yours is much neater. It looks good."

It did. Riku's long mane of hair was elegant to begin with, but gathered into a ponytail, with his bangs swept across his forehead, he looked even more so. Riku was a snappy dresser, and his outfits were always more put together than the jeans and hoodies Sora and I both favored.

We joked the rest of the way to school, meeting up with Sora, Kairi, and Hayner inside. Besides giving me a worried glance every once in a while, Sora said nothing about the night terror.

* * *

"So, as you can see, Hester Prynne suffers not only social persecution but religious persecution throughout the novel. Take note on how differently her daughter Pearl ---remember, she's the reverend's child and not her husband's---is brought up, and how her life is always described with the recurring theme of balance with nature. Now then, the growing friendship of Chillingworth and Dimmesdale…thoughts? Anybody? Okay, then…" I caught a muttered "be that way" tacked on to the end of Mr. Z's lonesome monologue. 

On another day, I would have been kind enough to rescue him from his floundering and raise my hand. We had established a relationship where Mr. Z asked questions and I answered them, sometimes leading into class long debates between the two of us, while my classmates slept on, unmolested. (Lately, though, Hayner would wake up when this happened and cheer one of us on.)

I didn't look up at him, but I knew he was leaning against the white board, tapping his loafer-clad foot, and I knew that the sour mutter was meant solely for my ears.

I persisted in my silence: The Scarlet Letter was one of my least favorite books, Hawthorne one of my least favorite writers.

" As you all know, another theme of the book is adultery and its consequences. Any thoughts? Roxas?"

"I don't know," I said, suddenly annoyed. "It's…bad?" I mimicked the average student's answer and didn't chance looking at Mr. Z's expression. I didn't want to regret the remark. I could, however, feel Hayner's eyes burning a hole into the back of my head.

Eventually he continued. This time he didn't ask any questions, and I doodled in the margins of my notes, toning out his voice.

The bell rang, and Hayner was in my face, hands on hips. "What's wrong?" He demanded.

"Nothing." Instead of scowling I kept my face blank and he growled, a sound known to send freshmen scampering into hiding---Hayner hated it when I did that. He called it "shutting out." I had tried to explain that it was a nervous reaction, but he wouldn't have it and I was lying anyway.

He glared at me for a moment, then slammed his text book shut and brushed past me like a tornado narrowly missing a straw house, shoulders and jaw painfully rigid. I winced. He'd be mad at me for the remainder of the day, maybe the next.

I stayed at my desk a moment longer. Its glossy wooden surface, unmarred by sketches and obscenities as some were, reflected my pale face: eyes identical to my cousin's, perhaps less wide, though we shared the same curved mouth, and a tousled head of spiky blonde hair. The rest---the fact that I had slight circles under my eyes, round cheeks with well-defined, high bones, and sandy-sculpted eye brows that I was certain made my face look entirely too feminine---I ignored.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Z," I said finally, craning my neck to find that he was three feet behind me and staring. "I probably shouldn't have come to school like this."

He sat down in the neighboring desk with a slight frown, abandoning haughtiness in favor of sincerity. (He had probably been prepared to chew me out. Seeing the way his face softened, I couldn't blame him.)"Are you sick, Roxas? Do you want a pass to go to the nurse?"

"No. Nothing like that. Uh. I just don't like the Scarlet Letter. And I have a bit of a headache. I think…I'm just gonna go home. If that's okay."

He nodded. "Of course. I'll inform the office." I didn't like the knowing look in his eyes, so I read it as sympathy instead.

* * *

I didn't go straight home. Nobody would be there, and if Aunt Gene came home for lunch I didn't want her to worry about why I wasn't at school. Instead my feet explored those sidewalks I hadn't walked down before. I paused to admire the older homes I started to come across. Their sturdy roofs rested underneath ancient, bent trees, covering brick walls and mansard windows, sheltering classic glass doors and wide seeping porches, on which rocking chairs were dotted like painted stars in a stone sky. 

I couldn't really say where my irritation and discomfort were coming from, nightmares being fleeting, but the slight chill in the breeze and the perfect silence---broken only by the occasional tinkling wind chime---were magnificent healers, calming my frazzled nerves.

The neighborhood really was lovely. It was smallish, penned in by a few fields but mostly woods, and housing a good mix of adults and children. I knew practically all the ones my age by sight and most by name---not from my own explorations, but from the number of people Sora seemed to magically attract whenever we went out. Besides Hayner and Riku, I had a few other friends---Pence was a dark-haired, dark-eyed and quiet boy with deliciously subtle expressions with whom I often talked about books, and Naminé and Olette were two girls I had art class with, both of whose dispositions I favored over Kairi's.

They were all such…nice people. And it was great, it really was. Last night's nightmare had been my first since moving. That was probably why it had shaken me up---I'd thought my nights of waking up in a pool of my own sweat, with my jaw aching from keeping it clamped shut, were long gone along with my cousins and uncles.

I was inspecting a particularly entrancing iron wrought garden gate when a gust of wind swept harshly across the street. I watched the orange leaves that were dislodged by its force and folded my arms across my chest---the black and white checked sweatshirt I had on wasn't very thick and I realized it was getting colder.

I looked back up at the gate---there was a large, beautifully planted garden beyond it, with rows upon rows of autumn blooming flowers, and others that were pale brown, already dormant. A dirt path ran beside the garden, eventually leading into a large cluster of trees.

There weren't any houses beside it---the sidewalk ended at the gate, it was a dead end. I couldn't catch sight of any buildings on the property. Not even a shed. For a moment I only had eyes for the lonesome trail, tapering off into the dark, unknown territory; a path that for all its darkness seemed to be beckoning as the wind shook the branches.

I stood, curling my fingers around the cold bars. If anyone was around to take a look at my face---and no one was---they would have easily seen my indecision, my curiousity, my wariness. Had Sora been there, he would have said we ought to come back later, dressed in warmer clothes and with flashlights in hand. Or maybe he'd get that oddly nervous expression on his face. If he did, then he'd laugh and swing his arms up behind his head, tugging me away before I realized it. Sora would remind me that Mr. Z could have quite possibly phoned home, explaining my situation, and that Aunt Gene might at this very moment be worried sick about me, frantically looking for me as she circled the neighborhood in her sleek car. Sora would point out that it was probably private property, smile, and suggest we go to the park if I wanted to walk around and get mud on my clothes and thorns in my jeans that badly.

It only took one swift jerk of the gate to wrench the lock open.

* * *

**a/n: In the game, Roxas is such a searching person, feeling drawn towards both people and buildings for reasons he can't fathom. I like having him be weirded out by Sora watching him sleep---since there's that scene where he's watching Sora sleep, neh? Anyway, if you've read up to this point, you might as well give me a review...the button's right to your left. (right to your left. That's funny...) Lots and lots of Axel in the next chapter, but I'm sure some of you already know what Roxas is going to find in the woods. **


	5. Chapter Four

**a/n: Hi there. Now, before you start---you know those people, who are like, insanely busy? I am one of those people. Plus I had writer's block for the longest time. So, for those of you who might be after my blood about not updating TCG for a whole month---I'll update it just as soon as it's possible to do so, okay? I really, really, don't have anytime. Pester my editor Bloodeye (you can find her devart from my profile) if you don't believe me. The facts of the matter are these: I updated for you! So you'd do well, to, like, review. Or something like that. **

**Anyway...there's probably a ton of things wrong with this chapter. I suck, and I apologize. **

**And, as you all know, KH is the property of Square and Disney. **

* * *

**Chapter Four**

I enjoyed the little things as I tramped over the packed earth of the path---the sound that the leaves made when I crunched them with my huge sneakers, the tingly sensation that my nose was getting from the stinging wind---oddly pleasant now that I'd been walking through the trees for several minutes---and the way that my heart thumped just a little offbeat, reveling in the knowledge that I had no idea where I was going and no one knew where I was. It had been so long, too long since I'd let myself do something like this.

Admittedly, the little things that I loved so much weren't enough to distract me from the bigger things, like the fear that Mr. Z had indeed phoned my home earlier, and like the fear that I would get lost and, in trying to get back to civilization, get devoured by a bear. Or something equally disappointing.

I shuddered and tried to get back into my previous state of mind, with only the vivid blue sky hanging high above my head and the firm dirt under my feet as a frame.

But I had been traversing a subtle curve, and when my head crested the edge of that gentle lip, I stopped short and all such thoughts were wiped away quicker than my accelerated breath.

I had been expecting to see the continuing lattice of trees and wild, flyaway shrubbery, with its untended vines creeping stealthily over the pale bark. And yes, the trees were there. But in that short distance they started to form a shallow circle, a ring of ancient growth.

In the center of this wide ellipse all the plants had been cleared away, leaving only the bare grass.

I took a careful step and scanned the surrounding trees for signs of movement, not sure what I was looking for. (Elves, dryads, sprites? The scene seemed to beget the magical creatures of Faerie I liked to read about so often. (Back when it was that or face my family, books were the perfect escape, sometimes my only refuge, and always a comfort.))

I laughed, and was delighted---the noise echoed across the whipping air, seeming to twine around the trees, seeming to call me to their center.

I stepped again. I had the interesting sensation of keeping my eyes trained on both the surrounding countryside and the circle.

With every step, something in the pit of my stomach simultaneously tightened and unfurled. I was alone but felt like I was walking across a stage, like I was being watched from places that couldn't be seen by mortal eyes. I wondered what the expressions on such faces would be like.

I knew that I was just playing around with myself. It was a game I'd played often.

But it was still fun to pretend that, as I made my now quiet way across that circular gap, with my head tilted backwards to gaze at the crisscrossing pattern the branches made, it was so much more mystical and important than what it really was---

A practically truant teenager trespassing across what was undoubtedly private property.

And then it was over. I'd reached the edge of the clearing, and I could see the trees thicken for some time before finally narrowing and leading back to those rows of newer, two story houses.

I squinted, leaning against one of the trees for a moment. I recognized some of the houses---this was third street, if I concentrated then I could recognize the pale yellow siding of Kairi's home. But Kairi lived on weft…then I was looking down at the corner. My stomach clenched slightly in surprise.

Did that mean…?

My legs, a little numb from the cold, were still swift in carrying me down the curve to where the trees thickened---and sure enough, there it was, in front of me the whole time, the bedraggled treasure at the end of my hunt.

It was hard for me to say whether the strange structure was more intimidating from the front or the back, and part of me wondered if anyone but me had ever even seen it from this view before.

Unlike the front, which was dominated by scattered piles of abandoned junk and the toys of children who'd been unfortunate enough to lose them there, the backyard was primarily made up of wild, thick undergrowth. I was treated to a closer view of those threateningly long thorns, attached to creeping vines that had overtaken most of the back siding.

If I used my imagination, then I could discern a porch. It looked more like a crazy artist's rendition of one, admittedly, but it was there, and even displayed two rickety chairs much like the ones I'd seen on my trek to the garden. (Well…much like as in, they were chairs. The paint on these was spotted, cracked, like a second skin that the furniture was preparing to slough off the moment I looked away.)

Beyond the porch---which didn't look like it could hold a squirrel, much less a human being---a wretched back door clung to a single rusted hinge for dear life.

I stood on the cusp of that feral, tangled yard, and knew my brain was relaying the message to my feet that I could only stand still in fascination for so long---I wanted to get closer. I wanted to allow that dizzying curiousity to reel me in.

I was perceptive enough to realize that I was also standing on a figurative cusp---I hadn't even lifted my foot when that first afternoon rushed back to me, overloading my senses with Sora's flickering eyes and uneasy smile as he tugged me away, pulled me home.

Don't ever go there, he'd said. Don't even linger.

Sora wouldn't say something like that unless he had a good reason---he liked a bit of deviousness as well as I did, for all that I was good at practicing apathy and he was good at acting the angel.

Acting? Not hardly. Sora couldn't act his way out of a paper bag, and was a terrible liar. Since Sora was good at anything he practiced, that just meant that he never lied.

But then why? Why that strange, disconcerting smile?

And if my faith in my cousin was so unshakable, why was I yearning so much to go against his word---and mine? Because I'd promised myself I wouldn't so much as look at the object I'd been visually drowning myself in for the past five minutes.

I couldn't believe that I'd so willingly jeopardize my new, sunny life. I couldn't believe that I'd risk shaming my mother, disappointing Aunt Gene, distancing Sora.

I lifted my foot, but this time it was to turn back, flee the way I'd come. I decided, though, to allow myself one last look of the dark, mysterious house. My eyes took in the squat, ugly structure, crouched in front of me. I glanced at the thickly clogged drainpipe, at the end of which there was a small explosion of wet leaves. I noticed for the first time, when I angled myself, that two bushes had been obscuring an old, decrepit bench swing, its paint job matching those of the chairs.

Finally I let my sight brush over the black, grime covered windows---portals that refused to do their work--- first examining the top one which sported a tilted sill and then the lower one, which was clean enough for me to light upon the face that stared back out at me.

* * *

"I didn't poison that tea, you know."

I took a sip. Made a face. It---no, he--- laughed at me, and when he laughed I could almost see the sound shaking his lithe, confident frame, reaching his shoulders just as he leaned forward and smiled at me again.

"What is this?" I asked. It was piping hot, sharp, and bitter.

"Like I said, tea. It's…well, it's actually my own mixture."

Great. If I could have sunk any further into my awkward, wooden chair, I would have. As it was I was nearly shoulder deep at the rim of the table, doing what my mother has often liked to claim---when she's feeling snippy--- I do best: staring.

There was a lot to stare at. The stone fireplace was largely the center of the room, housing a cheerful flame, arcing over a huge pot made of some flat, dark metal I couldn't name, and running beneath a number of instruments and implements out of the same material, some of which I could identify as ladles and pokers, and some whose purposes I couldn't guess.

Above my head strings of herbs dangled from low chestnut rafters, confusing my nose with scents I hadn't been around since I was four years old and helping my grandmother in her kitchen.

The room was filled with cupboards and counters, neatly cluttered with dishes, jars, and too many canisters to count---some were transparent glass and I could see things like sugar, salt, and other spices, but others were colored—several narrow and slinky, others fat and round, still others crafted into strange angular shapes--- and once again---I had no clue what was in them.

It was a very open space---the table---a square, well made piece of furniture---was placed in the center. The rafters, for all that they were low, were spaced so that they created an airy, welcome atmosphere, and the wooden floor was freshly swept and clear of any obstacles.

It could have been an antique model in a magazine, except for the varying candles that were placed in any conceivable space--some were lit, and other merely stood, silent sentinels. I couldn't think of any reason why someone would need so many. It might have looked pretty, but it made the whole place a fire hazard.

And then there was him.

I'd almost lost my tongue when the stranger from the library had forced that back door open and waltzed across the porch, surveying me from across the yard.

I mean, I knew not to talk to strangers. But I really hadn't talked to him so much as let my head drop down to my chest, and then jerk it up again when he invited me inside for tea, saying I looked cold. There were probably a million things wrong with actually following the lanky redhead inside hell's summerhouse---which on the inside was more like grandma's---but his smile had grown wider when he caught me mid-shiver, and that's how I found myself sitting across from him, staring.

"What's your name?" He asked. I searched his face---his eyes were greener, brighter than I'd remembered. Not that I had thought about the encounter---it had completely vacated my mind. His hair, too, was more vivid, hanging in slim tendrils behind his ears and arcing radically into a ponytail that was in even worse shape than that of Mr. Xemnas. He was young, I reflected, probably not much older than myself.

At that point, my brain came out of its shock and kicked into full gear.

"You _live _here? This building isn't condemned, or haunted, or the place where Satan plays poker on Wednesday nights? Why is it in such bad condition on the outside?" I asked---all incredibly belated questions, but like I said, my tongue had been out of commission, first choked by surprise and then by the detail around me.

"Yes, not to my knowledge, and because I like privacy."

"I don't believe it," I said.

What can I say? I had been looking for…well, I didn't even know. But I hadn't expected what I found.

I searched his face, trying to read something there, evaluate his expression.

But all I could see were green eyes, a long nose, and a mouth twisted into something like a smile.

I blinked.

There was something very, very wrong going on. His face was animated enough---so why couldn't I find anything in it?

I realized, then, where my initial dislike that day in the library had stemmed from, and in slight panic I quickly sat up and leaned forward, almost knocking over my cup of tea with a careless elbow, until his nose was an inch from mine.

Proximity did nothing to help matters, though, and as soon as he lifted an eyebrow---in what? Confusion? Surprise? I didn't know!--- I flushed and drew back as swiftly as I'd come.

"Roxas," I said belatedly, "It's Roxas."

I was peeved. Annoyed. Worried. Frustrated.

And curious.

"What's your name?" I asked, returning the favor. Maybe once I could put a name to such a unique face, I would be able to read it. That's what I hoped.

"I'm Axel," he said, amusement in his voice---at least I could hear that. Axel, I thought, back to staring at his features.

It was no use.

I took another sip of tea---it might have tasted nasty, but it was doing a good job of returning warmth to my limbs---and cast a glance around the room once more.

"What is…all that?" I rose my arm in a sweeping arc.

"Uh…my kitchen?"

"It's…well…I mean, from the outside, I wasn't--"

He laughed, pausing to take a long sip from his own cup. (They were brown glazed mugs, actually, but I wasn't really paying that much attention.)

"You mean the candles?" He asked.

I nodded. "That, and everything else. I've never seen anything like it, in real life."

"My parents and the rest of the coven helped me with it," he said.

"The rest of the what now?" I demanded, now shooting the tea a suspicious glance.

"Coven. My parents are Wiccan." He pursed his lips. "So am I. Or, that's what I'm here to try and figure out."

"Isn't this a bit…"

"Stereotypical?" He smiled. "It is. It's something of a joke, but it suits me."

I hadn't been going to say stereotypical. I had been thinking more along the lines of, too far to take a joke? Wiccan? That was like witchcraft. That was, like, bad. They excommunicated people for that.

"...are you okay?" He asked, frowning, eye brows raised in…something. I was going to go ahead and guess concern, though, if it was possible, his face seemed even blanker to me now.

I looked down; my hands were shaking.

"I should probably leave now," I said slowly. "I'm, uh, in a hurry."

His frown deepened. "You know, Roxas, I don't find people in my backyard every day. It takes awhile to get there. Where on earth were you hurrying _to?"_

I slumped back down in my seat, wondering exactly how I could answer that without sounding as rude and as ungrateful as I was starting to come off.

"I, uh…just remembered that I cancelled. That thing. So." I took another sip of tea, snatching a look at my host's face.

"You know," he said slyly, "you're the first person here I've met who hasn't run away when I casually mention that. Wicca, that is."

I started guiltily. "Imagine that. I wonder why." I'd like to think I said that smoothly.

He shrugged, and looked at his hands---his fingers were long to the point of being spindly, but elegant, and the gesture raised the sleeves of his black sweater revealing a pair of small, pale wrists.

"People are afraid of things they don't understand. Most people shoot first and ask questions later, no matter what they may think of themselves…it's a subject where hypocrisy abounds."

I flinched. Then I hoped that the flinch had miraculously escaped his notice.

"You know…"

No such luck.

"…for a second, I thought you were gonna run. You just seemed the type---kind of flighty, y'know? Anyway…"

And then we started to talk. After the first half hour, during which I asked questions about his lifestyle, his manner---which had been slightly formal---dropped into a casual, teasing rhythm.

His name was Axel, he was from northern Massachusetts, he'd been living here for eight and a half months. He liked horror movies, books, learning, and told me with a strange smile, fire.

"It's getting late," he noted after we'd finished a heated conversation on the pros and cons of the film adaptations of famous fantasy novels. I noticed that he said that without looking at any sort of clock---in fact, there wasn't a clock in the whole place.

I nodded, draining the last bit of my fifth cup of tea---halfway through the second, I'd realized the stuff was addictive---and stretched, wincing as my back popped and cracked.

"It's what, seven-ish?" I said, thinking that I only had half an hour before my mom and Aunt Gene would get home.

He blinked.

"It's midnight," he said.

"What?!" I yelped, and this time I did knock the cup over in my rush to stand up. "I've got to go, I'm dead, I'm dead---"

I was beyond dead. I'd be lucky if my mother didn't butcher me on sight. What on earth had I been thinking?

He caught my shoulder just as I was wrenching his front door open---moonlight spilled in through the crack, bathing us with its pale glow. My world spun for a moment, seeing that light cast on the interior of the house---it was eerie, otherworldly. And somehow I'd managed to convince myself, through the course of exchanging words, that it---that _he---_was perfectly normal. That speaking with him wasn't against everything---against my cousin, my aunt, hell, even my mother would probably have something to say on the subject of witchcraft.

Axel opened his mouth to say something, but like before I left him in the dust.

* * *

**a/n:cough: right...I hope I'm not killing anyone with boring details. Anyway, long chapter, eh? I know, it kind of sucked. But I do have a point with everything...and I wanted to get it across that the point of this story is _not _"watch Axel and Roxas overcome their religions to be friends". It's a bit more complicated than that, and come on--- their personalities are such that they _would _hit it off right away, one way or another.(Roxas has a lot holding him back right now. drrr.) Axel was right, Roxas really is flighty, isn't he:D Anyway...the return of Sora and co. in next chapter... and I'll try to update as quick as I can. Okay? So, if you've read all this, then you might as well leave me a review...right? **


	6. Chapter Five

**a/n: Hello and welcome to chapter...uh...what chapter is this...never mind...anyway, welcome to So Much For That. I don't own Square and I don't own Disney, but I do own wiccan!Axel. 8D**

**Anyway...long chapter, guys. I know it's been a loooong time. But it's here, and I hope you enjoy reading.**

* * *

Sora was waiting for me when I poked my head through my window.

I gritted my teeth: a piece of flaking siding scraped the inside of my palm as I pulled myself through the frame. I was out of breath and sweating profusely, and that unruly hair of his fell back behind his ears when he jerked his head up at my sudden entrance. It took him only a single stride of those wiry legs to reach me.

His expression was frantic for minute, searching for blood or a bit of more subtle horror upon my person, and it was only when I set my hands on his shoulders---an action which I'd seen Riku use to calm Sora down---that he relaxed. But the calm lasted only an instant; his face was then swept away by an anger I'd never seen him display before.

"Where have you been?" He hissed fiercely. "Do you know how worried I was?"

He grabbed me by the shoulders, now, his fingers digging through my worn hoodie, and gave me a good shake. My head snapped back. I stumbled. He didn't seem to notice.

"I had to lie to my mom!" In response to his stronghold, my own grip got tighter, trying in vain to mollify him. "You know how she gets, she would have had the whole police force out looking for you. I told her you were at Hayner's. It's a good thing Hayner answered the phone when she called, and it's a good thing he's perceptive enough to have covered. You've been gone for hours."

I was at a loss for words---dimly I noticed the jump in Sora's vocabulary, whatever could _that _mean?---it was an accusation, and we stood there, neither letting go. Why was he holding on to me, still? I couldn't think of a reason until I delved into his expression and saw a slim undercurrent of relief. Had Sora really thought I was in trouble? Hurt? Or maybe; and this made the most sense to me, Sora had thought that I wasn't going to come back. If he knew the particulars of how I lived before…

"Sora," I said, and my voice was low even to my ears, "I wasn't going to run away. This is where me and mom ran to…and I…"

Won't do it again?

Didn't mean it?

Went against your word and had tea with a witch-freak, breaking two important rules at once?

So many choices. But, as he was prone to do, my cousin started talking.

"Of course. Of course you're not going to run away, Roxas. I…I freak out a little. About stuff like that, not knowing where people are. My dad…" he looked to the side, out the window and into the night, "disappeared like that. And I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry I overacted…ack! Sorry!" He seemed to notice that he was digging into my skin and quickly released me.

I blinked; I'd been right. "Ouch," I mumbled belatedly, looking for something to say. If my cousin's ocean blue, pure eyes entreated me for much longer, then I would spill the whole story. One secret, after all, always begot another. In exchange for his utterance about his father---the one uncle I knew nothing about---he wanted, no, he _expected_ me to tell him the truth of my whereabouts.

"I'm sorry," I said finally. His gaze, which had been urging me frightfully, softened. Dimly I realized that my head was pounding, that I'd sustained numerous scratches from tearing through the woods, that I was shaking from being seized with an irrational fear and running with locked muscles. "I won't do it again," I added, swiftly looking up at him, desperate for some signal from him, something that would tell me things were okay.

His crushed me against his firm chest; and muttered something about me being silly. I was forgiven. That was enough for me.

* * *

"Demyx?"

I observed from the far corner of the breakfast table as Sora's voice rose sharply. It was barely a week since the late night incident, and I was particularly tuned in to any changes in my cousin's mood. Was it agitation, or mere excitement? The name was familiar to me---Sora had mentioned this heretofore absent neighbor on my first day. I frowned slightly. What had he said about him? Something about puppies?

"He's back from vacation?"

"That's right," Riku grinned broadly. He lounged against one of the kitchen chairs with his arms folded, waiting for Sora and I to finish our morning ritual of decimating two bowls each of sugary cereal. It wasn't a tradition Sora's mother appreciated, and for the first few weeks I'd been afraid to not humbly accept the silent offerings of morning grain-bars. It wasn't until Sora confided that this was a gesture in vain that I joined him, braving Aunt Gene's miffed sigh.

"He's going to walk to school with us," Riku added.

"That's great!" My cousin exclaimed through a mouthful of cereal. Riku winced when some spray flecked his nose, and Sora apologized sheepishly, then began to eat in double-time.

I cleared my throat. Riku's head turned towards me inquisitively. "Ahm," I fumbled, "Who is Demyx, anyway?"

Sora let his spoon clatter to the floor, obviously shocked. "How do you not know _Dem_?" He accused. If he had pointed a theatrical finger at me, I wouldn't be surprised. As it was I smiled when Riku raised his eyebrows, giving Sora one of those amused glances that only he could pull off. Or maybe it was that Riku was the only one who could get away with it.

"Sora, think about the day Roxas moved in. Now think about the day Demyx left for California."

There was an audible silence. And then---

"Oh. Oh! Roxas," Sora commanded, scrambling out of his chair, "come on! Let's go---you have to meet Demyx. He's like, the coolest person ever!"

Sora ran out the door. I turned to Riku, questioning. He shrugged, teal eyes distant as he traced my cousin's retreating back. "He's pretty much right," he admitted, and turning, scooped up Sora's forgotten backpack.

I followed him, pulling the ornate doorknob towards me as I locked the door behind us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sora dancing around a taller boy whom I'd never seen before. He stood tall like a tree, unbending, upright, a strong stance at odds with the casual placement of his limbs. He had eyes bright like mine and Sora's…but whereas my cousin's were the shade of a peaceful ocean, these were wild, flashing like the scales of an exotic fish. The turbulence was breathtaking, and I realized that it must be a rare moment, when this creature was standing still.

His hair was the next thing to catch my attention, and probably the first thing to command most people's gaze---it stood up in sandy blonde spikes which trailed down the nape of his neck into a ratty mullet, and strands (he must have missed some, while fixing it) hung down at the sides of his face.

"Oh, so that's him, right?"

Demyx's voice was curious, uplifting. I blinked as a sudden gust of wind tore a cascade of rusty orange leaves through the street, and realized his voice reminded me of summer, reminded me even of my sunny cousin. My shoulders relaxed---I had been wondering why Demyx had seemed so vaguely familiar to my senses. Obviously he had a bond to Sora similar to the one Riku had. They were neighbors, after all…

"The one staring at you with his mouth kind of open? Yeah, that's him."

Sarcasm? From Sora? To my left, I heard Riku mutter, "And so it begins."

I blinked again. Maybe…was having these two together a bad thing? "Hi, I'm Roxas," I said finally, giving up on deliberations, ready to take what was thrown at me.

I didn't know what to expect from this new boy. Probably something like, "nice to meet you." Or "wow, you look a lot like Sora, don't you?" (It was a response that cropped up often.) So, I wasn't exactly caught off guard when I was swept up into a bone-crunching bear hug and spun around by my wrists. It was more like mortified. Yeah. He was grinning---his teeth were pearly white---as he stretched out the sleeves of my favorite hoodie, and I watched my sneakers fly out from under the rest of me.

"Roxas! I've heard so much about you! _He _wouldn't stop talking about ya. Hmm, Roxas…no…Rox-as…Roxy?"

I paled; my stomach was lurching, the crisp autumn sky was spinning, and he was giving me _nicknames? _

_Gawd, please let it---_

"Stop! Enough already." A strong pair of arms grabbed me, carefully setting me once more with my feet on the ground. My eyes widened as Riku shook his finger in Demyx's face. "Roxas is shy, he's not used to you yet. And what do you think you're doing, picking him up like that?"

Demyx was only taller than Riku by a few hairs, but he used it to his advantage, staring down his long, slightly tanned nose at him.

Was there going to be a fight? I looked around at Sora, but he was watching with his usual grin. So he'd been telling Demyx about me…

"You don't have to get so jealous, Riku. It's just you're so big now! Besides, I always act that way around family, and I'm entitled to being goofy once in a while…everything's so somber here!" Demyx ruffled Riku's hair. The only person I'd ever seen do that without receiving a stony glare was Sora.

"Only when you compare it to a beach party. And you're not family!"

"Says you. Hey, how's your brother?"

"He's good…he was complaining about you running off for vacation so early into the school year…"

I squinted, confused. They were both smiling, and there was nothing in the smiles but sincere affection.

"Sora?" I asked, arms hanging loosely at my sides, as I stared at the scene before me. "What's going on here?"

Sora came up and threw an arm over my shoulder. Our faces were close; I saw every detail of his then-blinding smile.

"Demyx," he told me. "You'll get used to it."

* * *

"Roxas."

"Hm?" I looked through the gaps of the wooden shelving and found Riku's eyes focused on mine.

"You've had that look on your face the whole week. Do you want to talk about it?"

I shot a sudden, hard look in his direction. The two of us were stuck doing chores for my mum, an obligation that normally fell on myself and Sora. But Sora hadn't been at the breakfast table by the time I'd dragged myself, tired from a night of tossing and turning, to the kitchen.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, resuming my dusting.

"Right."

A few minutes passed us by; unnoticed as the golden-flecked motes swirled in the yellow bars of light from the huge display window in the front of the antique store. My mum was out on errands; and the wizened old owner, short, hard of hearing, and in possession of a pair of icy blue eyes, trusted Sora and I enough by now to take care of customers should any wander inside.

"But you have admit--- you're being even less forward than you normally are."

I heaved a mental sigh. I'd forgotten that Riku was so tenacious. It was an easy facet of his personality to forget, seeing as it wasn't one illuminated very well in the spotlight that was my cousin.

Riku, with his astute grasp of conversation, carried on for the both of us.

"He's out with Demyx right now. I told him to remember to tell you, but I guess he forgot."

If Riku had been expecting me to drop my dusting cloth in agitation, he was mistaken. I mean, Sora loved the slightly creepy but mostly mysterious store; with its towering cluttered shelves stacked with wonder upon ancient wonder. It was officially an antique place, but like most such establishments, housed a number of other trinkets and rare items. Some of them were high up, hidden from the light, merely these dark, oddly packaged shapes, which we were explicitly forbidden to touch. Every once in a while Sora would swear that he heard squawking, ringing, or any number of other impossible noises coming from them.

(So far Riku and I had heard nothing on that front; but still, alone as we were, we couldn't deny the timeless aura of being in an abandoned garden or haunted house or a grandparent's attic.)

"It hasn't escaped you that they've spent every waking minute together."

No, it hadn't, seeing as the two had also spent every un-waking minute together as well. Demyx seemed just as inclined to curl up on Sora's rug with a blanket or two as he was to walk the fifteen paces to his own house, like a house cat.

Or a lion.

I shook my head---I liked Demyx. He was fun, he was loud, he wasn't unthinking, and didn't try to hide it. It was like Sora squared, every day for a week. They chattered like peas in a pod, about bands I didn't know. Memories I didn't have, which Riku and Sora had made sure to keep a close eye on, lest they overrun me, abounded.

"Did I remember the time--?"

"No, no I don't,"

And other things of that sort happened frequently.

As much as I liked him, as much as he was familiar, in the most striking ways---

(One morning I walked out of the shower to find him at the sink, brushing his teeth with my implement---the red one with the hard bristles, not soft like Sora's blue one---and this had, for the first three seconds, seemed normal. Normal, of all things! (Seconds later I screamed at the top of my lungs, which earned me extra chores and the experience of watching Sora and Demyx roar with laughter all through breakfast.))

---I couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit, something somewhat akin, if you thought about it really hard, shunted to one side. A little.

It wasn't my place to say any of this to Riku, who'd given up on dusting and was now outright peering at me through the shelves; his elbows propped up to either side.

"You don't like him." It was a stone thrown between us, and I refused to let it sink into the murky water.

"I never said that," I shot back. "It's not like that. I like him. I really do. But Sora---"

"Worships Demyx. I know, trust me. But you shouldn't let it get you down, Roxas. Things will tone down in a little bit. Sora's always really clingy after Demyx has been away for a while."

I nodded. This made sense, after all. My disposition was irrational. "I…I know."

But there's still something weird about that guy, I wanted to say, but Riku and Sora were thick as thieves. If Sora knew that I was doubting one of his friends, in whatever way, I'd die. He'd known Demyx longer than me, anyway, and probably knew more about him.

We cleaned in silence for a bit, but soon enough we wandered onto safer topics of conversation, including Kairi's latest romantic disaster, the downright hideous tie that Mr. Xemnas had actually _given _to Mr. Saix, and, the most interesting one, the way in the past week Mr. Z had seemed to go temporarily insane.

It was, I found, somewhat an issue, and more than a little worrying.

You might not always think it strange when your teacher arrives with his shirt on backwards, a can of shaving cream stuck firmly to his hand instead of the usual mug of coffee, and proceeds to write on the white board with chalk.

No, in the case of several teachers, this wouldn't be cause for alarm. But the thing about Mr. Z, what made Mr. Z a little more tolerable than the other teachers, was largely due to his possession of that vital thing---sanity. And it seemed to have flown away.

I let him get through five minutes of lecturing on why Homer wrote Hard Times before raising my hand and clearing my throat.

"Oh! Roxas," he turned around. Poor guy looked like he was going to fall over; his pale face had an unhealthy sheen to it today, and his dark-framed glasses were crooked. His silver hair, normally parted severely to the side, was in marvelous disarray.

I couldn't keep the disturbed expression off my face.

"I need to see you," I said, quickly surveying the room in case anyone was paying attention---no one was, thank god, "in the hallway."

He followed me, puzzled, into the nearest bathroom. I took the liberty of dragging him over to a mirror---I considered Mr. Z a friend, in terms that weren't absolutely certain, and I couldn't let such a sharp, neat person wander around looking so wild. Never mind that I wasn't sure about the ethics in this situation.

"Fuck," I heard him moan, and watched as he banged his head repeatedly against the mirror.

Which was, in my opinion, a very interesting action on his part, but one that I probably shouldn't let go on.

"Uh, Mr. Z?" I ventured. Should I be calling someone right now? I wondered. Who should I call, anyway?

"Yes, Roxas. No need to sound so tentative anymore, I'm back."

Even he seemed to realize that that statement sounded creepy, and he offered me a smile before turning on the taps and splashing the freezing water onto his face. A few drops landed on my arm. Vaguely I wondered if the class had realized it was without a teacher yet.

"Thanks for taking me out of class," he said briskly, sounding more like Mr. Z and less like an alien-zombie life form that had taken over his body.

"Mr. Z…are you hung over?" I asked, gesturing to his disheveled clothes. "Can't you get in trouble for that?"

"I can get fired for that," he informed me, rubbing at his face with some of those brown paper towels, the scratchy kind that seem specially reserved for school bathrooms. Even in the sickly green light that the room provided, I could see a touch of color return to his face. I relaxed a bit; I was worried that he would faint for a moment, and I hated the thought of leaving the teacher comatose on the disgusting, tiled floor to run and fetch someone.

"I'm not hung over," he added, giving me a stern look, as if I shouldn't have even suggested it.

I didn't back down. I'd already realized that most of Mr. Z's ice was a façade meant to keep out insensitives.

"If you're not hung over…are you sick? Mr. Z, do you want me to get the nurse?" Maybe I should have suggested that first.

"No, I'm fine."

I let that hang in the stale air for a moment.

"You brought _shaving cream _to drink, Mr. Z," I said.

"There's that," he said. "It's better than last time, at least," and he heaved a tremendous sigh, the kind of sigh that only someone who studies Romantic poetry for a living can achieve.

"Last time?" I asked, fiercely curious about my teacher's strange affliction.

But no matter how I pressed, Mr. Z would not say a word on the subject; and I returned to the classroom with him (no one, except for Hayner, who was motioning to me in furious curiousity had taken note of our ten-minute departure) feeling disappointed.

"So maybe he's depressed," Hayner said around a mouthful of egg salad sandwich. I winced playfully at his eating habits; he just snorted.

"Those are some pretty freaky symptoms for depression," Kairi nudged her way into the conversation, abandoning a high energy argument with Namine over some piece of modern art (or was it a boy they were talking about? The difference wasn't always clear) in favor of our mumbling corner of the lunch table.

"So what? What else can it be?" Hayner put too much force into his words, as he always did---Kairi sniffed and made to turn back, but Namine was already leaning in across her, interested.

"You guys are talking about Mr. Z, right?"

I nodded before Hayner could make a sarcastic comment.

"Kairi's right, he can't be depressed…can he?"

"I don't know," I said, feeling heightened anxiety over the opinions of others. I'd already ruled out depression, but that was what everyone else seemed to think. "But I'm going to find out," I threw out for the table to hear. "This can't keep on. He keeps getting Greek mythology and British literature confused, and the rest of the class doesn't even notice!"

"Roxas the detective?" I looked across the table. Sora, Demyx, and Riku had all bought their lunches and were just getting back from the line. Demyx tossed his tray down on the table, watching with undisguised cheer as the orange gelatin flew a foot in the air and plopped back down unharmed. The clatter drew the whole table's attention to his words. Is that why he did it? I chased the thought away.

"Maybe nothing's wrong with him," he said lightly, almost wickedly, grinning at me. "Maybe he's just let his guard down. You know, maybe he's finally ready to open himself up to new experiences, that sort of thing."

"By wearing his clothes inside out?" I barely kept the scoff out of my voice, but I wanted to hear what Demyx had to say. He'd had Mr. Z as a teacher last year, after all, and there was something about his tone that caught my attention.

"Maybe. You never know." Demyx smiled, and Sora elbowed him in the ribs.

"Quit joking around, Dem, Mr. Z is Roxas's favorite teacher. It was Roxas that made his class _interesting._ He's stopped lecturing in that boring voice."

There was general assent, and a "Damn straight," from Hayner.

"So it's natural for him to be worried," Sora concluded.

"You know, Roxy," Demyx leaned in, "If you're really serious, maybe you should come to the school tonight. A couple of teachers have staff meetings today, so Mr. Z will be here late. Maybe he'd be more receptive to questioning when school isn't in session, don't you think?"

That was actually a good idea, I thought.

"But how would I get in?"

No one else was listening now, though Sora was keeping a friendly eye on us.

"Pssh, lighten up, Roxas, detectives need to find their own ways. I'd go with you, but I've got a swim meet. And…to be honest…" was it just me, or was there desperation in his eyes now? "I'm really worried about him too. But I can't exactly approach him right now. I know it's a big favor…"

"Of, of course," I said. "I think I can manage it."

"Atta boy," he said, and the sounds of the cafeteria came rushing back to me.

With so many things on my mind, the arrival of Demyx and Mr. Z's strange behavior, it was easy to forget about Axel and that horrific house. It wasn't that I was suppressing the thoughts---they just didn't come.

I had no idea how sharply I was about to be reminded.

* * *

**a/n: hahahaha. :cough: Anyway. I really like Mr. Z, can you tell? And we have the entrance of Demyx, who, obviously, throws a wrench into the fragile dynamic Roxas has with everyone else. Also---Demyx is a COMPLEX character. Sorry for shouting, but I think way too many authors make him like this big version of Sora---but there's more to him than that. I'm sure everyone remembers the "die, traitor," scene. Demyx is very interesting indeed...I wonder who he's been talking to? Is he setting Roxas up? Why is Mr. Z drinking shaving cream? All this and more in the form of Axel in the next chapter. **

**Also---send me reviews, guys, I like to hear what you think. **


	7. Chapter Six

**a/n: Hello and welcome to the sixth chapter of So Much For That. It is embarrassing to note that 98 per cent of this chapter has been written for months and months. I'm sorry. But I'm not kidding on my profile when I say everything I've started will eventually be finished. Also, I don't own Kingdom Hearts! **

**

* * *

Chapter Six  
**

I shivered as a I slunk through the school parking lot, shoulders hunched and hands thrust as far into my pockets as I could shove them. Mid October wasn't the best time of year to go traipsing around at night without a coat, but I'd been so worked up before walking quietly out after dinner that I'd forgotten it. I say "slunk" because of the things I'd noticed about my new town, the fact that everybody seemed to go to bed at nine was one of the stranger ones. Not the teenagers, of course, but the walk to school---so familiar in the mornings---had been a dark and deserted one, with only quiet lights on in the homes.

The fact that I had run into no one made me feel even more out of place, and this feeling---the knowledge that I should be, as everyone thought I was, studying over at Hayner's house, instead of where I was, edging ever closer to the brightly lit windows of the school---manifested itself as a guilt trip. I couldn't get Sora's reaction the night I'd come home late through my window out of my head. I paused, stomach twisting, and my shoulders flinched slightly at the sensory memory of his fingers digging into them, a nearly-forgotten panic refusing to let him loosen his grip.

I knew that tonight, at least, Sora knew that I was going to the school. He and Hayner were in on the plan---in fact, only my fast talking had persuaded Hayner to stay behind: we needed someone to confirm my whereabouts, should Aunt Gene call. Not that it was a big deal---I was only doing this for Mr.Z, I reminded myself. Sure, spying on a conference could be considered a breach in ethics. But it wasn't my prerogative to overhear a confidential conversation between he and his students. I just wanted to catch him off guard. To find out what was wrong.

_Aunt Gene wouldn't see it as ' helping' . And you're making Sora lie to her. Again. _

_Shaving cream. Alien zombie. Mr.Z,_ I thought firmly, willing my legs to move. I'd approached the school from the West side of the building, which only housed a minor exit. Through the last window I would be able to see into the English classroom, which, apart from the lobby, was the only classroom on this wing lit up. There was a convenient line of bushes which made up a perimeter some feet from the side of the building, and I dropped to my hands and feet, grimacing when my palms met with the chill grass. I crawled directly under the window sill. It was only a few inches above my head, and I heard soft voices. I sat tight and waited.

I sighed, looking through the bushes, beyond the streets, behind the houses, my eyes focusing on the horizon lines of shadowed trees and fields. It was too dark to make anything out that wasn't flooded in a small circle of yellow, orange, or blue, whether from a lamp post or house light. There was a midnight blue touch to the edge of the sky. But for the most part, it was black. I craned my neck, momentarily distracted by the stars. There was no moon to speak of. For some reason something in my memory stirred when I thought that, and I frowned. There had been something about that fact, hadn't there? Something about moonless nights? But it was out of my reach.

I shook my head, noticing that I could no longer hear people speaking---perfect. I turned around and cautiously peered through the window. Luckily Mr.Z's desk didn't face the window. It ended up not mattering.

The teacher wasn't currently in the classroom. I frowned, scanning the entire room, but he wasn't there. I'd seen his silhouette earlier, were his conferences done with? I had planned to wait for a break between them, tap on the window, and then further pursue my earlier line of ignored questions.

I gave up the pretense of stealth and stood up fully, frustrated. He'd turned the lights off, which meant he probably wasn't coming back.

Maybe, though, I could catch him in the hallway.

I knew there was nothing urgent about my mission. Something was wrong with Mr.Z, but it didn't seem to be hurting him in a dangerous way. All in all it could have waited. But I couldn't bear the thought of having Sora lie to his mom for nothing. I had to find _something _out. Everyone else wanted to know what was going on, too.

So I loped to the small exit, sending a quick thanks to the janitor when the door swung open freely. I hadn't expected it to be unlocked, but I didn't waste time considering why it was. (Probably in case a parent mistook it for a main entrance). I found myself in one of the long corridors of the building. The only light was coming from a hallway some ways down that branched off this one, and the rows of closed classroom doors, standing like silent sentinels, made me a little nervous. Those nerves were calmed somewhat simply by the effect of the heating. I pulled my hands out of my pockets, trying to rub the numbness out of them as I quickly walked, skirting the edge of the lit corridor after making sure no one was standing in it. The lights did give me pause---would he go that way through the building? I couldn't guess, both hallways would eventually lead you to the faculty parking lot.

I followed the dark hallway on impulse, striding past the black cafeteria and a number of study hall rooms, grateful for my soft-soled sneakers that made the barest of thumps. Empty as it was, any noise I made would echo. I quickened my pace, hoping to catch sight of Mr.Z's retreating back as I turned the corner---

"What do you think you're _doing?"_

I wrenched myself backwards around the corner, body flush with the lockers, heart thumping. Had he seen me? No, he hadn't seen me. He wasn't facing me. His body had been obscuring someone else, a few paces away, and I'd pulled back as soon as I'd caught sight of them. Two bodies, posture indicating opposition towards the other.

…Them.

Who was Mr.Z addressing that way?

"I think you know what I'm _doing, _sir."

I stiffened in shock when I heard Demyx's voice answer.

"Look, Demyx…please don't think I haven't thought about it. But you are a student. And I am a teacher."

"I'm eighteen, and you're twenty-three."

"I'm afraid that---what I mean is, it still isn't right, not as long as you are a student in these halls."

"No. All you mean is that you're afraid, period."

"We've been through this. Nothing has changed."

I slid to the tiled floor, not believing my ears, and feeling a little sick. I desperately wished I could see another way to interpret the conversation. But the passion in their voices as they continued to argue---obviously an old, often-fought battle---belied any other explanation. They were both feeling very strongly, although Mr.Z was uncertain, wary, and Demyx was forceful and earnest. I got the feeling that Demyx had lain in wait, then ambushed Mr.Z there in the corridor. Much as I had been planning on doing a minute ago.

And who was I to judge? I realized slowly. I didn't know what was happening here, not really. And I'd found out what I wanted to know---this had to be what was eating at Mr.Z, and it was understandable. His behavior and Demyx's return weren't coincidence, it was an obvious case of cause and effect.

And, thinking back to the implication of our conversation, it was not the first time this had happened. "It's not as bad as last time," he'd said, in the bathroom.

The argument dwindled down, voices losing their edge, and Mr. Z's voice was calm if not unwearied and exasperated when he next spoke.

"Hang on---I'll drive you home—I left my keys in the classroom, though."

Before he could finish the sentence I leapt to my feet without thinking, not keen on explaining my presence. I knew ducking down the lit hallway wouldn't be enough--- if he so much as looked to the side he'd see me---in my haste I pulled open the door of the first unlocked classroom I got to, shutting it as gently as I could. A moment later his silhouette passed through the small glass window cut into the door, and I sighed, turning around. I thought I had stepped into a science room, and would be met with the familiar smell of a chemistry lab, the chairs sitting on top of the glossy black tables, allowing the janitors to clean up whatever had been inevitably spilled, broken, or splashed during the day, test tubes and other glass instruments laid out on the counters, outlined from the faint light coming through the windows.

And, I _was_ met with all that.

But I was also met with three pairs of incredibly startled eyes.

"As I was saying, Xemnas, the less likely something is to happen, the less you should be surprised when it does. Case and point."

I gaped.

And suddenly, I remembered. He'd said it so long ago; it had been weeks--- it was ridiculous to think it should come up now. One of those things that I should have kept in mind. And probably the only reason I hadn't fainted dead away:

"They say that the weird smoke and lights that come from the school on nights that there's no moon are from him doing weird experiments and…_stuff." _Sora had been educating me on the screwy upper math teacher, the same one that sat across the classroom, leaning in a chair with those disturbing eyes trained narrowly on my face. Near him was the chemistry teacher, , looking at me in an equally scrutinizing stare.

Maybe this would have made sense, if not for the last of their number, the one who had punctuated his point after I walked in.

"You're kidding me," I said weakly. I would have run for it, but the dogged look in Mr. Saix's eyes seemed to promise me a terrifying pursuit if I did.

Besides, I'd probably run straight into Demyx. Who, I remembered with growing confusion and alarm, had been the one to suggest I go to the school tonight in the first place. Who was supposed to be at a swim meet.

Maybe I was safer in the classroom.

"No kidding here, but it is pretty amusing," Axel said from his vantage point on the counter, dressed, as he had been the other two times I'd seen him, all in black. In the dark classroom his already pale skin was incredibly stark.

After the initial surrealism of the scenario, reality nudged me out of shock, and into panic. First I stumble across a secret conversation, then a secret meeting? Which housed, impossibly, Axel. The wiccan. The wiccan I _had tea with._ Who I talked to for hours, that night. The one whose expression I couldn't read. I chanced a look at the smile creeping across his face, but like before, it was no good.

I couldn't read him, not one iota.

Maybe the hallway was safer after all.

"I'll, uh, I'll be going now---"

"Sit down," Mr. Xemnas said, voice steely. I blanched. It had been worth a try.

"Or I could sit down," I said meekly, taking a chair and lowering myself onto it gingerly. The plastic/porcelain alloy of the seat was cold, and I bit back a shiver.

"You're Sora's cousin. Roxas."

I nodded. Mr. Xemnas's gaze, though disapproving, seemed to hold a hint of amusement. He was in a emerald green sweater today, customary lab coat placing him more fully into the setting than anyone else, despite the fact that the room, I noticed, belonged to Mr. Saix. But the science teacher had shed his own white coat, and watched the proceedings with one pale eyebrow slightly raised (he, too, was very disapproving.)

But it wasn't a flat disapproval. There were layers here. Amusement. At my plight? Curiousity. They were probably wondering why I was here. And there was very little anger, if any.

What, exactly, had I stumbled into here? Two teachers and a wiccan. Axel wasn't even a student at the school, of that I was sure---rumors of him would have abounded like an ubiquitous fire; seeing as he seemed to be open about his…unorthodox religion (he had told me after very little conversation, after all). Not to mention he lived all alone. In Hell's summerhouse. Which everyone thought was---what? I still hadn't figured that one out.

I hadn't thought of it at all.

His green eyes---I had forgotten their vividness, forgotten how striking he was---locked onto mine, and I could have ground my teeth in frustration. It looked like my few weeks of peace---it had barely been three---in which I had settled down into the role of obedient cousin and nephew, were going to be interrupted.

"What is going on here?" I asked quietly.

All three exchanged looks, with a mix of emotions between the two teachers, and then I realized it.

Not only was this a secret meeting, a covert gathering, it was one that wasn't allowed. They were doing something they shouldn't. Admittedly, it was hard to tell from their attitudes---they didn't sit, they lounged. They were relaxed, rather than tense, and when I barged in, they were more curious than worried.

Or that was what they wanted me to see, anyway.

After a conversation spoken mainly through glances and small motions, most of which was lost on me, Mr. Xemnas turned to address me.

"This is a lesson," he said, much in the same manner he would say "this is an example of the quadratic equation."

"A lesson," I repeated.

"I'm glad your ears are in proper working order," he said witheringly.

He glared at me, more for my skepticism than anything, I think, but eventually kept going. "The young man currently swinging his legs on the counter over there cannot, for reasons I see no purpose you need to be aware of, attend classes at this high school. As a personal favor Mr. Saix, myself, and other teachers occasionally give him supplementary lessons. You may think of it as independent study."

Other teachers...

"Mr.Z," I said. "Mr.Z must also know about this."

"Yes, Mr.Z will also give lessons from time to time." Mr. Xemnas seemed loath to give me more information, however, and fell silent.

I sat and mulled this over. Beyond the fact that I couldn't think of why the teachers would bother with Axel, it made sense---those hypothetical rumors I'd thought about would be a great hindrance to him. He must not feel comfortable with the idea of attending class.

But that was a preference---did that equal the firm "cannot" in Mr. Xemnas's explanation?

Axel's eyes gripped mine again, and I had the eerie feeling that I was staring into a mirror---he was watching my expression, perhaps warily. That was probably fancy on my part; his face was as lost to me as ever as he glanced away, picking up a graduated cylinder and inspecting it.

"You may go now, although I would warn you that there are consequences for being on school grounds without permission at night."

I nodded and stood up. At first I had been worried, fearing detention or, worse, a call home, but it looked like I was getting away with only that; a warning.

"One last thing---the administration does not look favorably upon these sessions. I would ask that you consider the repercussions of your action on this young man's education if you should approach the faculty."

I blinked. I'd been right; the meeting was clandestine because it was breaking some rule. No wonder my reprimand wasn't stronger.

I nodded again. It seemed appropriate, and Mr. Saix and Mr. Xemnas both leaned back a little, content with that.

Something, however, made me pause on my way out. It might have been how reminiscent, with a strong glow falling outside the room into the hallway, the scene was of Axel's kitchen that night, after I had opened the door and been struck with a sense of overwhelming guilt. It might have been the way that said young man had managed, continuously, to drag my eyes toward him. Or it might have been something else, a loyalty I didn't know I had.

"I would never—I won't---you don't have to worry. About me, I mean."

Axel finally looked up from the chemistry tool, smiling. "Roxas," he said, and a slight thrill ran through me. I hadn't been expecting him to address me. And part of me had thought that he'd simply forgotten the encounter.

"Feel free to come over again, if you'd like to talk," he finished.

The teachers didn't seem to think anything of this statement, and I found myself nodding, fingers reaching for the door behind me and then I was hurrying through the hall; half expecting to run into Demyx and extremely relieved when I didn't. Thinking of him made my stomach clench nervously. But it was my brain that reacted strongest, now, and I was too lost in my thoughts to even notice the now biting cold night as I made my way home.

When I got through the front door, via the key Aunt Gene had made for me the week we'd moved in, (something I wasn't used to having. Sora wouldn't have known it from the clumsy way I'd crawled through my window that night, but I was very used to and quite adept at the action. And that is how I wanted things) Sora was waiting. He'd been lounging alone in the living room, and from the way papers littered the floor in a radius around him, he'd been studying. Or trying to, anyway---Sora found the entire thing extremely exciting, which was no surprise to me. I found myself wanting to ask exactly what kind of antics he managed to get up to, with such a vigilant mother (and he so wanting to please) but I suspected I already had the answer---nothing so daring as what he'd been doing after meeting me.

Oh, if I had found a simple, amusing answer, that would be fine with me. But how would Sora react--?

I was in the act of taking off my shoes, and Sora, having caught sight of me, was bounding through the room, when I paled. How _would _Sora react?

"Well?" He demanded, face eager, eyes bright with anticipation. "How'd it go? Did he talk to you?"

I didn't think about it, I just stepped aside and let my tongue take care of things.

"Well, you see, he feels very strongly about things like nonconformist ideas; like that and carpe diem, and he was wanting to impart a sense of those ideas to his students…but I asked him if that was really helping things, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sora bent towards me, a habit of his. Our foreheads were nearly touching as we crouched in the foyer, the rest of the downstairs quite dark but for the single lit lamp in the living room.

"So he agreed with me that it had already served its purpose, shaking up…shaking up our routine. I think he might have just been agreeing with me, though. I think he might keep it up, until, uh, students figure it out for themselves."

"And to think, we thought something was completely off." Sora seemed lost in thought, but he was soon grinning at me.

We stayed that way a few minutes longer, sitting side by side, talking about how quirky the whole thing was. Soon, though, Sora yawned hugely and mentioned a math test the next day.

I kept a pleasant expression on my face until I escaped upstairs into the shower. I washed the mud off my knees and frowned. The steaming water was small consolation for my lies, but I couldn't feel I was wrong.

The wrong thing to do would have been telling Sora something that was only for Demyx to tell.

But this still left me the unnerving question---and I was sure that this was his intent, he was too clever for it not to be---why did Demyx want me, of all people, to know?

* * *

**a/n: So how many of you people saw that coming? I'm curious! More exciting things next chapter as things heat up---in the meantime, please do me some good and leave a review, even if you just want to berate me or say hi, okay? **


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